Permafrost

The slowest way to drown is when you're fire. When water plods down your body with no worries. When it confesses its love to you with a honey and a darling and a beloved. You drown languidly with a tenderness that could spark its own fire to spite itself. But you still drown anyway...

Fire doesn’t belong with water, doesn’t get to know the feeling of wet. Wants to kiss it until it comes to its senses. Wants to ask, “What about swimming looks fun when it’s a mess compared to the sway and light of fire?” but there’s another whisper that’s too low and interrupts him. He has to cup a palm around his ear to try and hear it. It crackles one last time and there’s a correction on its pop and hiss, as if it can’t believe he’d get it so wrong. Repeats itself again but this time adds—

“Drowning.”

---